


Hiding the World

by Copgirl1964



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, non-explicit reference to violence and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-15
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-07 16:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3177017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Copgirl1964/pseuds/Copgirl1964
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A terrible murder is turning Greg's Christmas into a day from hell. Fortunately, Mycroft steps in to sooth the pain of the man he's secretly cared for for some time. A gift for Carizee for the WInter Mystrade Exchange, kindly beta-ed by Johnsarmylady. There's going to be one chapter per day.</p><p>Warning, there is violence mentioned in regard of the murder - children are involved. That's why this story received a T rating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mycroft

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CariZee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CariZee/gifts).



Over the past years Anthea had developed a rather efficient system to inform her boss during a meeting when things went wrong that concerned a private matter. When Sherlock got into trouble, a Hobnob would find its way onto the saucer of the cup of tea she delivered. Shape and size of the biscuit communicated the seriousness of the incident. The day Sherlock had jumped down the roof of Bart's, Mycroft had received three Hobnobs and each had been broken into two pieces.

Custard Creams or Rich Tea were much more rare than Hobnobs. The Custard Creams indicated trouble with the Holmes parents, the Rich Tea biscuits a problem concerning Gregory Lestrade.

It was Christmas Eve when Mycroft Holmes was in a meeting with two high ranking politicians from the Far East who didn't care if anybody rather wanted to spend Christmas with their family. Fortunately, Mycroft didn't mind at all, finally having an excuse to stay away from the annual family meeting that always seemed to get on and on and on.

When Anthea entered the room with a tray and he discovered not one but two Rich Tea biscuits on his saucer he thought for a moment that his PA must have been mistaken. Anthea didn't make mistakes but there was always a first as Mycroft knew. Having developed a serious crush on the handsome Detective Inspector and being perfectly incapable of doing anything about it, had been his.

Two Rich Tea biscuits could only mean Gregory Lestrade was in serious trouble. The only other option was that they had run out of Custard Creams and both his parents were concerned. It couldn't be Sherlock because Mycroft knew they had Hobnobs. He had nicked one from the kitchen just an hour earlier during a break.

The look Anthea gave him indicated that his parents were quite all right. So the problem did concern Gregory.

The downside of having a brain that was equal to that of the fictitious Mr. Spock was that Mycroft, while handling the meeting flawlessly, had enough random access memory at his disposal to worry himself within an inch of a stomach ulcer.

He knew there was still time to conclude the meeting for there had been no sugar on the saucer but that knowledge didn't help much right now. In the past two years a Rich Tea biscuit had made it to his saucer three times. Twice on the occasion that Gregory had faced extremely upsetting crime scenes; once after his now ex-wife had dragged him to court under the accusation that he had molested his daughters. Mycroft's blood-pressure was still rising when he remembered that day.

The Inspector had his own techniques to deal with upsetting situations. First he went to the gym and worked out until he was ready to keel over. If that hadn't been enough, he went to a pub for a varying number of pints. Once in a while the DI went to the next cinema to see a film, any film really, after the pub. It had taken Mycroft an embarrassing long time to figure out that Gregory went there for the sole reason that he wouldn't have to sit in his flat all by himself.

On an occasion during summer, when two children had been murdered, the silver-haired man had taken his motorcycle for a ride. For the better part of three hours he had raced along the motorway and winding country roads. The memory alone still caused Mycroft's stomach to churn and cold sweat break out for he had worried himself into stupor during that time, having half expected he would have to deal with the DI's body mangled by a traffic accident.

Now he was close to ordering Anthea to put a drug in his guests' tea that would make them feel a bit woozy like they were suffering from jet-lag. Fortunately, the politicians stood up, bowed and left before there was need to put his plan into practice.

Mycroft refrained from thumping his head to the desktop in relief, knowing that a bruise at the forehead was little becoming, and hurried to find his PA.

Anthea handed him a sheaf of papers and when he booted his computer the link to the CCTV cameras he needed access to was already in place.

„Good grief!" Mycroft understood immediately why this night was a danger-night on which the DI shouldn't be left alone.

Two women had been murdered by a man dressed as Santa Claus. The perpetrator had been the husband of the younger victim and father of their two children. The little boys, age four and six had opened the door for Santa Claus who then had stabbed the boys' mother and their grand-mother before telling the scared children it had all been their fault this had happened. Neighbours had heard the screams of terror but when the first police-car arrived, everything was already over. Santa Claus had put a gun in his mouth and shot himself in the boys' bedroom, spraying beds, posters and toys with his blood.

The view-screen of Mycroft's computer showed a couple of forensic scientists, a man and a woman, who were stepping outside. The man lit a cigarette with shaking fingers while his colleague stood close by with her head lowered. After a moment the man wrapped an arm around the woman, pulling her to his side. Some crime-scenes affected everyone involved.

Mycroft was proud of Gregory Lestrade. When the DI finally stepped outside the house he kept a stiff upper-lip, apparently spoke words of comfort to his colleagues and was very much the man in charge. It took the keen eyes of a Holmes to see the man was on the verge of collapse.

There was no need to wait any longer. Mycroft switched off his computer and went to get his car. His driver was at home with his family and the Government official actually enjoyed driving one of the sleek cars he had at his disposal. He chose a Porsche Cayenne and quickly left the premises, determined to catch up with Gregory before he went home.


	2. Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter is a short one - written from Greg's point of view.

When he left the crime-scene in Putney, he felt like a hundred years old. He knew that when he closed his eyes tonight he would see the haunted looks of the two little boys who had been thoroughly destroyed by the man who had killed their mother and grand-mother in front of their eyes. The killing had been bad enough but telling the boys everything had been their fault was the icing of the cake in the worst possible way. It would take years of therapy to rid those boys of the guilt that was part of their life now.

He rubbed a hand across his face, wishing he wouldn't be alone this night, that somebody would be there to listen and convince him the world wasn't as bad as it seemed right now. Someone he could tell about his truly horrible Christmas and who still would be willing to hold and comfort him. But who could be expected to listen? His wife once had told him she would but had quickly decided that she didn't want to know what he had seen. After a few years she couldn't even stand touching the man who had been in the presence of death on a regular basis although she was married to him.

Suppressing a sob that threatened to break free he started his car and drove to New Scotland Yard. Tonight he would only throw the paperwork on his desk, take a quick shower and change to get rid of the rancid stench of blood, before driving home to get drunk. What a sorry existence he was leading.

Two other officers who had been at the crime-scene with him were standing in the Yard's changing room, getting dressed already. An hour or two at the Yard's gym would have been a good idea, Greg thought, while he took off his clothes and took shampoo, shower-gel and his towel out of his locker. But he felt physically drained and he didn't want to tell his daughters in a few days during a phone-call that he had spent Christmas Eve alone in the gym. Not that spending that evening alone at home was much better but working out sounded too desperate even to his own ears.

He was alone in the Yard's showers and the moment he stepped under the hot spray, tears began to flow.


	3. Mycroft

Mycroft was lucky for when he entered the building he met one of the officers who had just left the changing room. The man told the Politician that the DI was in the shower before he wished Mycroft a happy Christmas and hurried outside.

Was it necessary to knock on the door of a changing-room? No, that was silly. Still, Mycroft felt like he was invading the Yarder's privacy when he stepped inside. The room was empty clothes on the floor and the noise of a running shower was proof enough that somebody was still there.

Mycroft waited. Except for the steady downpour of water in the shower he didn't hear a sound. After about ten minutes he carefully opened the door to the showers and peered inside. It almost hurt him physically when he saw the lonely form of Gregory sitting on the tiled floor, distress almost oozing from every single pore. The naked man had drawn his knees to his chest, his arms were wrapped around his legs and he had bowed his head so the water was hitting him on the neck and shoulders.

Making a quick decision, Mycroft took off all his clothes except his boxers, for he didn't want to get his suit wet. He grabbed a thick, white towel from a pile that was stacked on a rack next to the door and went inside the showers. Grateful for his long limbs, he leaned over the motionless man on the floor, who didn't seem to notice his presence, and turned off the water.

"What..?" The sudden stop of the water surprised Greg, and he looked up at the man who stood next to him.

"It's all right, Gregory." Mycroft bent down, wrapped the towel around the DI's shoulders and helped him to stand up.

"Mycroft, what are you doing here?" Huge brown eyes reflected a mixture of sadness, surprise and confusion, while their owner tried to understand why the posh man he foremost knew as Sherlock Holmes' older brother, stood in the showers of New Scotland Yard, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts.

"I came to take you out to dinner," Mycroft said Leading Gregory from the showers, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, Mycroft found it rather difficult to concentrate. Non-stop his brain helpfully provided images of the exposed Inspector it had saved just moments ago. Round shoulders, a muscular chest with dark hair that ran down the centre all the way to the flat belly, narrow hips and legs that were strong from running the streets of London. A corner of his brain demanded that he filled the blanks by giving the almost naked body so close to him a quick once over but Mycroft pushed back the urge.

The short walk to the changing room apparently was enough for Gregory to regain his composure. He stepped away from the Politician and turned. Provided with an unashamed view of the fit Yarder's whole front, caused Mycroft's brain to come to a screeching halt. He could feel is jaw going slack when desire shot through his body. His pupils dilated to an eclipse that left only a thin blue outline and enough blood rushed south that the expression providing wood behind the arrow seemed inappropriately appropriate all of a sudden.

Mycroft blushed a bright scarlet, for his physical reaction hadn't gone unnoticed.

"I'm sorry, Gregory. I must seem like a pervert to you."

Seeing the usually well composed Politician quite flustered, made Gregory smile.

"I'm actually a bit flattered that you would find this old copper attractive enough to go to half-mast from the mere sight," he teased the man gently.

Abruptly Greg turned to pull fresh clothes from his gym-bag, leaving Mycroft with the sight of a round bum and the knowledge that his reptile brain and body joined forces to complete his embarrassment.

In order to bring his bodily functions back under control Mycroft took a towel from the shelf, dried his skin where it had been hit by the spray from the shower and was pointedly not looking at Gregory's body while he got dressed. The familiar ritual helped to calm his nerves and by the time he sat down to dry his feet before putting on his socks and shoes, he had regained most of his composure.


	4. Greg

Digging though his bag for fresh clothes, Greg tried to ignore the man who stood a mere meter from him, giving both Mycroft and himself time to come to terms with the situation. An hour ago he had left a very gruesome crime scene, wanting nothing more than getting spectacularly drunk in the feeble hope of not being haunted during the night by what he had seen, and now he was getting dressed to go out to dinner with Mycroft Holmes.

He tried to get his head around the idea that of all people the elder Holmes had shown up but when he thought about it, over the course of the past couple of years he had always known when Greg was in desperate need for company and had come to him. Well, he had popped in on rather inconvenient times as well, demanding information, files or his service as Sherlock's baby-sitter but that didn't matter right now.

Greg remembered quite clearly that summer day when he had come back from racing his trusted Kawasaki to clear his head. A very pale looking Mycroft Holmes had been waiting in front of his garage to grab a bite and talk for a couple of hours. Also last winter, when his bloody ex-wife had accused him of having abused his daughters in the most hideous fashion, he had come and kept him company. Greg had sat in a cinema to watch one of the Fast & Furious films – he couldn't even remember which one – when Mycroft had taken the seat next to him. Not only did the intelligent man stay during a movie that had undoubtedly inflicted physical pain to his brain, he had even moved close enough that their shoulders had touched to provide comfort.

Buttoning his shirt Greg threw the Politician a glance. He was still a bit stunned that the Government official had come to the shower, especially in that state of undress. Since he most likely had taken off his clothes to prevent them from getting soaking wet it did made sense though.

When the man had helped him to stand up and wrapped him into a towel to guide him to the changing-room, there hadn't been much material between them. A bit of towel as well as Mycroft's boxers. Greg had very much appreciated the sight of pale, freckled skin and a healthy dose of ginger hair that encased a long and rather fit body. Why was Sherlock always asking him how his diet went or tease him about his weight? Sherlock really was an idiot.

"I beg your pardon?"

Greg was startled that he had actually voiced his opinion. He cleared his throat.

"Sherlock is an idiot," he repeated.

"And why is that?" Mycroft asked, while finishing the knot of his tie.

What was he supposed to say? Greg wondered. The truth probably, since his counterpart would know if he lied anyhow.

He cleared his throat. "Sherlock keeps teasing you about your weight but you are quite slim and look really fit."

"Oh," was all Mycroft replied.

Greg smiled and decided he should really stop making the poor man blush.

Before he pulled on his socks and shoes he went back to the shower to grab his shower gel and shampoo.

Eventually he closed the locker and hoisted the bag over his shoulder.

"Well, I am ready. Are you certain you want to take me to dinner on Christmas Eve? Is there no family you'd rather want to spend your time with?"

Mycroft made a face. "Actually my parents have invited me but I had to decline. Work, you understand?"

"Oh yes, I understand. Quite well actually." Greg nodded grimly.

Something in Mycroft's face changed. Greg knew the expression from Sherlock. The moment the Consulting Detective solved a puzzle an equal expression of unabashed joy broke free. Greg had no idea why the statement that he understood the Mycroft's commitment to his work would be a cause for joy but he would never pretend he comprehended a Holmes in the first place.

Mycroft held the door open for him and when Greg walked through, he felt a gentle touch to the small of his back.

Once outside he was thrilled to climb into the passenger's seat of the Porsche. Maybe that awful day had the potential to turn into a good day after all. He felt that already the weight that had sat on his shoulders had been lifted simply by Mycroft being present.

He reached over when the Politician started the car and put his hand on the other man's forearm.

"Thank you!" he whispered. Greg knew by the soft smile that lit Mycroft's face, that he understood.


	5. Mycroft

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're finally approaching the comfort-part of the story.

The Porsche's powerful engine hardly made a noise and almost purred when Mycroft accelerated as they reached the M 25 going north. Gregory obviously was very curious where they were going but he didn't ask. If anything the DI was getting more relaxed the longer the drive lasted, melting into the comfortable seat.

The winter's day had turned into night when less than an hour later the Porsche took the last turn and they stopped at the Luton Hoo Estate.

The Government official had to bite his lips to prevent laughing out loud, seeing the Inspector's face sporting an expression of almost child-like wonder.

"They have the best Christmas dinner here, Gregory," he explained, opening the passenger's door.

"Oh wow!" was all the DI managed to exclaim before he finally left the car.

They walked into the hotel and right up to the reception desk.

"Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft introduced himself to the receptionis. "I have a reservation."

Less than five minutes later both men were shown into one of the hotel's Mansion State Suites.

Gregory had completely lost his capability of speech until they were left alone in the room.

"Didn't.. didn't you say you wanted to take me to dinner?"

"There was no table left for their annual Christmas dinner but since they serve the food also in the suites I decided to make this reservation.

"Good Lord!" Greg exclaimed again.

Dinner hadn't been served yet and to Mycroft's amusement Gregory made a tour through the whole suite. His strong fingers trailed over the precious wood of the furniture, he produced an excited whoop when he discovered the sunken bath and after having toed off his shoes he fell onto the four-poster bed and produced a sinful groan that made Mycroft's toes curl.

A soft knock on the door announced that dinner was served. Two waiters entered and in a twinkle the table was set and the most delicious smells rose from the various plates and bowls.

Mycroft admitted to himself he had been very nervous when they had entered the suite. From the moment they had met this afternoon the day had turned into something rather intimate and he hadn't begun to fathom what Gregory would think upon discovering that dinner wouldn't take place in a restaurant but a secluded suite.

His mouth had gone dry when he had seen the handsome Inspector fall on top of the bed and he had needed to put his foot down to resist the temptation to join him right then and there. Especially when the man had flashed him one of his boyish smiles that would not melt but detonate any icy armour in its wake.

The hotel's servant left once the table had been set and Mycroft poured the wine. He raised his glass in a toast.

"Merry Christmas, Gregory."

"And a merry Christmas to you, Mycroft, the best friend I could ever wish for but especially today," Gregory replied.

Friend? Him? Mycroft almost forgot to drink from his glass. He remembered the day he had teased Sherlock about having friends and now this caring and loyal man, who had been one of the reasons his brother had jumped from the roof of Bart's, called him a friend. He took a large gulp from the exquisite wine, hiding his embarrassment behind the glass.

Gregory kindly ignored the flustered expression on his counterpart's face and lifted the lid from one of the plates.


	6. Greg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And finally the promised bit of fluff occures.

Dinner had been spectacular and it had been difficult not to groan and moan over almost every morsel of food. The Hoo's chefs had really outdone themselves and both men savoured the exquisite dishes down to the last piece.

Greg couldn't remember ever having tasted such a deliciously cooked goose. Having peeled the last bit of crispy skin off a bone, he licked one of his fingers. The look he gave Mycroft that very moment had been meant to be one that told the man how much he appreciated the food but it turned out clearly ambiguous.

There was that look on Mycroft's face again. For quite some time now Greg had had fantasies about the elder Holmes and he never would have guessed that just maybe there was a chance they might come true and his feelings were reciprocated. But now it was the second time within three hours that the posh man looked positively turned on. Those startling blue eyes had widened when Greg had licked his finger and the way Mycroft bit his bottom-lip now made Greg's heart speed up a bit in return.

Once he had wiped his hands on the napkin Greg ran a hand through his hair and down his neck, messing up his hair in the process.

"Uhm, how long are we allowed to stay here?"

"The suite is booked until twelve o'clock tomorrow." With a smile Mycroft added. "You really can't book these rooms for only a few hours."

"Of course not." Greg grinned a bit sheepishly.

Mycroft folded his napkin and stood up. "How about a drink?" With a gesture he indicated they relocated to the large sofa in front of the fire-place. Next to the sofa stood a coffee-table with a small assortment of bottles containing expensive alcohol.

Greg stood up as well. "What, no dessert?"

Maybe the evening would have turned out differently if his eyes hadn't darted to Mycroft's mouth the moment he had asked the question but they did and the politician took a step towards him.

"What did you have in mind," Mycroft paused and licked his lips, "for dessert?"

Greg felt quite warm with the tall, ginger-haired man standing so close. "I haven't really thought about it," he replied truthfully.

"Then maybe I could make a suggestion?"

All Greg managed was a nod before Mycroft took another step forward, pulled him in his arms and brushed a kiss against his lips. The DI melted into the kiss while his fingers were affectionately playing with Mycroft's hair in the nape of his neck

A knock on the door seconds later made both men jump backwards.

"Come in" Mycroft called out his voice rougher than before, his eyes not leaving Greg's face.

The door opened to a couple of waiters and the table was quickly cleared of all plates and cutlery. A cooler with a bottle of champagne was placed on the table, as well as two glasses. In less than five minutes they were alone again.

Mycroft pulled the bottle of champagne from the cooler and cleared his throat. "Would you care for a glass, Gregory?" he asked.

"Later," Greg replied. "Right now," he took the bottle from Mycroft and put it back into the cooler, "I want more of you."

Not waiting for a response, he took the other man in his arms and kissed him. The kiss started tenderly, lips moving against lips while their arms and hands tried to find the right way how to hold the other but soon Greg was coaxing Mycroft's lips apart, begging for more. The room was quiet, only the soft sound of their kiss could be heard. When they broke apart they pressed their faces into each other's necks, inhaling their mutual scents.

"Did you plan this?" Greg asked without accusation in his voice.

"No." Mycroft shook his head. "I wouldn't have dared to hope."

Greg felt himself smile and he kissed the man in his arms again. "Pardon my language but this day started like shit. I still fear I will wake up any moment and find myself alone in my bed with only a spectacular hangover for company."

Long fingers combed through his hair before cupping his face gently.

"That won't happen, I promise." Mycroft murmured, fixing him with an intense gaze that was full of longing. "I want you Gregory. Will you stay with me tonight?"

Greg answered by kissing Mycroft fiercely, stirring the fire that would burn hot during the upcoming night and settle into a steady flame that was meant to last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The night hides the world but reveals a universe. (Persian proverb)
> 
> I took the story's title from the proverb I'm finding appropriate for the events of this little story. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading but especially for reviewing. 
> 
> For those who wonder what that suite looks like Mycroft and Gregory are going to spend the night in, check out the website of the Luton Hoo. I fear there won't be a picture of those two stretched out on one of those beds in all their glory but your inventive little brains undoubtably will be able to fill the blank(et)s with images of your own.


End file.
